


perfumed with obsession.

by millcrs (remoose)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Juvenile Detention, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, i want to say im joking but essentially that's what this is, soundcloud rapper au, started from the bottom, super rich kids in LA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19371790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remoose/pseuds/millcrs
Summary: There is only one person to blame. Bellamy knows this. And he'd trade it all for his little sister and some Britney, circa 2003





	perfumed with obsession.

**Author's Note:**

> i've had most of this written for over a year now, but new music kept coming out so i'm glad i held off on posting it. there will be songs referenced in this fic, and while i have vague ideas about everyone's voiceclaims, there are certain songs i can't deny that suit each of the characters perfectly. for example, season 1 bellamy just IS post malone so in my mind that is what his voice sounds like, but equally if i found a song that suited his state of mind at that point in time or i felt described his dynamic with a certain character, i'd have it as a part of his discography. same goes for everyone tbh ! such as the age old question of: is wells jaha frank ocean or khalid? only god knows. 
> 
> pls enjoy & do let me know what you think if you have the time!

It happens like this: 

Aurora Blake dies of an overdose when Bellamy is sixteen years old. Octavia is eleven, and she does not shed a tear. Octavia is eleven and she blotts lipstick onto her mother's sunken cheeks as if they're playing dress up. Bellamy buries her body in the back garden that night -- a rectangular patch of upturned soil surrounded by weeds that rival his sister's height, a slice of earth that may never grow again -- and screams into his pillow, hoping to heaven that Octavia is sound asleep in her room; that this unknown grief has refused to haunt her innocent self. In the morning, he doesn't have the heart to tell her a lie. 

But the grief, it clings to her soft edges, roots itself deep and cuts her loose. It's to Bellamy she always runs, from that night on. Bangs catching on every flutter of her lashes, she blinks owlishly at her brother's sleepless form, counts each freckle with a whisper and brushes his curls back so he can see that she knows. She can feel the weight he's been carrying and he's not alone anymore. They never have to be alone again.

...

He quit smoking again because money got tight. Because mom couldn't go to work anymore, being dead and all, and he had to cut his shifts down to weekdays only; using his hour lunch break to wait for octavia outside school before giving her his complimentary free meal at the diner for supper. 

That means he has like, 30 extra bucks to spend in a week. And even though the both of them are pretty much surviving on a meal a day (or less, in his case), when Friday comes around, Octavia makes him take her to the record store. They buy Britney and Biggie and dance in the damp kitchen to Lil Weezy and fucking _Graduation_. Sometimes they change up the words, sometimes Bellamy's tangents are so unrelated to the lyrics themselves, but they still stab the same staccato beat into the spaces between his ribs. He knows where his words belong, and his voice? It belongs in a manic and mismatched harmony with Octavia, where it trips and stutters and stumbles into a new life that is wholly its own. 

Four months later, with the help of Nathan Miller and Soundcloud, he releases his first mixtape online. Free of charge. It goes viral. ish. 

The weekend they celebrate is the first time Octavia gets taken by social services. Thanks to Murphy, some coke, and Charlotte butting into business that isn't her own.

But there is only one person to blame. Bellamy knows this. And he'd trade it all for his little sister and some Britney, circa 2003.

Soon after, before the cops can come around and start asking him questions, before they arrest him, Bellamy beats Murphy to a bloody pulp in his backyard. And while Bellamy's fists are the ones hitting, it's a collective thing. It's Miller attempting to back him up because Octavia was his too, it's Charlotte screaming that this wasn't what she wanted when she ratted Murphy out to Bellamy. But she knew how he'd react, they all did. They knew Bellamy had no one else, that Aurora was mysteriously out of the picture -- _visiting her sister in Boca_ , he kept saying, _she'll be back when she's back._

What they did not know was that five feet beneath a battered, sniveling Murphy, Aurora Blake's corpse lay. Bellamy wondered if she could feel the rivulets of blood against the fragmented flesh of her fingertips. If she knew what he had done, how he had failed her in the one responsibility he had (a responsibility that encompassed more than he cared to admit). When the cops ask where she is, why no one was there to take care of Octavia but her wasted, sixteen year old brother, Bellamy cuts Octavia a look that screams a sworn secret forever to remain between the siblings, and quietly tells the sheriff that he doesn't know. 

_Haven't seen her since Easter, sir._

_No, sir, she hasn't called._

_I don't know why I didn't report it, sir. I guess I didn't want to make a fuss._

Octavia hunches over and vomits in the back of the ambulance, foily shock blanket draped over her shoulders, social worker acting like a personal bodyguard between Bellamy and his own sister. 

Miller attempts to reason with the cops, tells them his dad is on the patrol unit, he _knows_ Bellamy and _knows_ he’s a good kid, c’mon _please?_ But the pleas don’t cut it and Bellamy can feel metal cuffs cutting the flesh of his wrists as he tugs on the invisible thread that ties him to his sister; to their house where mom is sleeping beneath folded soil, undisturbed by the garish strobing is _blue red blue red blue_.

He could cry once they’ve turned onto the other block, or when he’s left alone in a room to make his one phone call to no one, but Bellamy waits until long after he’s scrubbed at hosed down by the guards in Mount Weather’s juvenile detention facility. He only succumbs when the door to his cell has been bolted shut, bunkbed beneath him empty until it is filled by an unwilling companion. Stuttered sobs, stifled against the thing and musty sheets that cover his mattress, still somehow echo louder than anything Bellamy has ever heard. He wishes he could be anywhere but his own body. Even if he were to escape it, he would still face the surround of four dead walls. 

In his dreams he imagines the brush of his sister’s lips to the tense lines of his forehead. When he opens his eyes he is alone.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!


End file.
